


Callisto

by hellhoundsprey



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha Jared Padalecki, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Barebacking, Bottom Jensen Ackles, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, Gangbang, Knotting, Multi, Objectification, Omega Jensen Ackles, Rough Sex, Sexism, Sexual Slavery, Top Jared Padalecki, Vomiting, implied/referenced nonconsensual body modifications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Original prompt: Omegas are obscenely rare and Alphas are seen as the elite class. Omegas are looked down upon by Betas because they are secretly very threatened by them, so they have manipulated society to make the Omegas’ status as a pleasure slave only entity. Pleasure slaves are only to be used for the full moon.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101





	Callisto

The knock on his door startles Jensen. He curls into a tighter ball under his blanket, in his bed.

Vince lets himself in. “Come on,” he says, “it’s time.”

Now, even Vince smells somewhat nervous.

The Beta holds him by the arm as they make their way—out of the house, down the street. Jensen’s eyes and joints feel liquid with fever. It’s a mild March night. Jensen wears his hoodie, his jeans.

Fleeting looks for the houses they pass. Middle of the night, pitch black. Drawn curtains.

Vince guides him inside a large building and Jensen remembers—this hallway. Nondescript and intimidating, so clinical. Vince brought him here for paperwork before. Before his procedures; for his emancipation. Jensen is too nervous to think.

A left, a right. A door. Vince attempts to open it, but it is locked. He falters, frowns; checks the sign, the room number.

Someone from inside asks: “Vincent?”

Vince replies, “Yeah,” and gives a tight sigh, frowns at his feet while the door gets unlocked. He’s still holding Jensen’s arm.

The door opens. A Beta lets them inside. Jensen keeps his head down. “You’re early.”

“Better than late.” Vince tugs Jensen to the nearby table and chairs. “Can you take off your shoes by yourself, yeah?” is murmured gently, close, which is never a good sign. But Jensen nods. Yes. Yeah, he thinks he can.

The other Beta watches, arms crossed in front of his chest. Vince helps Jensen with his jeans—Jensen’s fingers are too numb (swollen? They feel swollen) to undo the button. No underwear, no socks. As his jeans drop to his feet, Jensen’s face heats further. Air on his bare skin, against the slick between his thighs, on his ass.

Pulling the hoodie over and off his head is a struggle. Vince bites back a sigh as he yanks the sleeves off his too-limp wrists for him, and Jensen is sorry.

From behind them: “You gonna stay with him, or…?”

“Oh, hell no. Nah, I’m getting out of here ASAP.” Vince picks up Jensen’s clothes, his shoes. “Just dropping him off.”

“What if… Y’know?”

Vince snaps, “No, I _don’t_ know, Henry,” and Jensen lifts his gaze just-so, enough to look between the two Betas, once. He shifts his weight, keeps his arms in front of his crotch. Vince folds his jeans over his arm. “Jared said they’ll put up some surveillance; I dunno. He said he’d call.”

Henry snorts.

Vince’s head snaps towards him. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing…”

“No, go ahead, I’m all ears.”

Henry scoffs, shifts against the doorframe. “Man, calm down, I’m just—”

“Yeah, exactly,” snarls Vince, and Jensen steps further into the corner. Vince states, “Jared said he’s got it, so he’s got it. He said he’d call, so he’ll call. If he has to. Which I doubt, but—I trust him.” A glare towards the other Beta. “As we all surely do.”

Henry grumbles, “Right.”

Jensen peers over at Henry when Vince gets a hold of his arm anew, pulls him along to yet another door. Henry looks him up and down before Jensen is shoved through the ajar door, out of sight.

Vince promises, “You’ve got this,” without meeting Jensen’s eyes, and then the door closes, and the key turns inside the lock from outside.

Jensen huffs. Looks over his shoulder and around. It’s rather dark.

A table, a sofa. A small fridge; a TV. A mattress. No window.

It’s warm. Warmer than in the other room. Or it’s just his body heat, catching up. As Jensen steps further into the room, he hugs his middle, rubs at his arm. A camera sits up in a corner. Jensen looks away from it as soon as he spots it.

He eyes the couch, the mattress. If he sat down, he’d get his slick all over them. He opts for kneeling on the mattress instead, folds himself over his thighs, beds his face on his arms. He closes his eyes for a moment. Clean sheets. His own sweat. Concrete.

His sigh comes out louder than he anticipated.

Another cramp. Another wave of fever. Jensen shivers.

He has no idea how long it takes until he hears them. Two doors down, in that same corridor he arrived through, and he stirs like he’s fallen asleep. Which he might have. Lords, he’s—tired. All loose and warm but their scents are—uplifting. Exciting.

Jensen’s spare body hair stands on end with his next breath.

Voices, steps; opening doors. Jensen sits up, ass on his heels, hands on his thighs, and he—Lords, he couldn’t stand up if he tried. His throat goes tight as he swallows, and he hopes—he hopes this is okay. Him.

The key turns inside its lock from outside and the door pushes open for someone—a woman, redheaded, and her eyes find and pin Jensen immediately. Her smile is wide, genuine. “Hey,” she says, and, “Hi,” and more follow her, let themselves into the room. Six Alphas in their pack.

The room crowds dangerously fast and Jensen does his best to not crawl into a corner and hide. Their pack leader enters last and Jensen doesn’t look down fast enough for their eyes _not_ to meet across the room. He does drop his gaze, then.

Eyes closed, he hears—the door being pulled shut, too-close chatter, giggles. A chair gets pulled back; two. Someone turns on the TV.

The other woman laughs, “Classy,” and Jensen catches a glimpse of the DVD case she’s tossing aside. He is beyond any ability to flush even hotter, so it doesn’t matter. “They think we need that? In case we forgot which part goes where?”

“Kim,” and the room goes quiet for a beat. Until their pack leader speaks up once more, so calm, so clear, and Jensen’s toes curl without his say-so. “Let’s sit, have a drink. Take the edge off, all right?”

“Take the edge off my _ass_ ,” but Jensen hears another chair. Everything gets kinda drowned out by music; one Alpha closing in on him, smelling like—Lords, Jensen doesn’t have words for it.

The redhead works her belt open, her jeans. She asks, quietly, like it’s just her and Jensen in the room and it’s all soft, “First time?” He nods with his eyes shut, still.

Her hand, curling over the back of his neck, nearly has him coming out of his skin. Just a rub, a squeeze.

“We’ll ease you into it, all right, sweetheart?”

This is his place; this. He’s learned and practiced and he can be good. Can be pliant and obedient and not put up a fight, but the videos and texts never touched upon how he is supposed to—deal with this. How it’d feel to be—touched. At all.

Her hand is ice-cold, scratches into his hair. He shivers head to toe and his hips tip back on instinct. She pushes and he—follows. Lets her guide him. Just go along with how they want you. Keep your head down. Let them figure it out.

She sinks down on the mattress behind him while he struggles to his elbows. Up on one arm, then, back on his hands—stumbling, unsure. He can hear the others talking, still, like nothing is even happening, like this is normal, but he knows they’re watching, all of them. Him. You. The only one.

A gasped, “Wow,” and her fingers sinking into him is—

a revelation.

“Oh, poor baby, you’re _soaked_ ,” and someone laughs, and someone else tells her,

“Stop fucking around, man.”

Her fingers (three) pump into him, once, before pulling back.

It all makes sense, now.

It’s a second between her lining herself up and the entire length of her burying itself inside of him, and it’s so fucking sudden and so much that Jensen gets shoved up the makeshift bed, gets a yelp smacked out of him with the force behind it

He covers his mouth immediately but oh, oh Lords, she’s leaning down, blanketing him and making him carry her weight on his back. She’s hot all over, at least as heated as he is himself and bleeds all of it through her still-there layers of clothes. She croaks, “Fuck,” and Jensen can’t even breathe, can’t process anything but—this.

Her cock inside of him. Throbbing fat and hard and it’s good, it’s the best, it’s—

Jensen buries his face in the sheets for the first, testing thrust, and he keeps it there.

The Alpha on his back tosses her head back with a slurred, throaty laugh. He can feel her nails digging into his hip as she wraps her hand around it, gets herself some leverage. Again, “Fuck,” and it all blurs from there on.

It doesn’t take long for every ounce of air to be taken over by the Alphas’ pheromones. By their clear intentions, the rush of their blood. Them, reacting to an Omega being mounted. Alpha cock doesn’t smell like the artificial stuff at all.

(It’s—so much heavier. Worms right inside every gap in Jensen and—expands, there. Takes over. Makes him feel even emptier, heavier.)

The redhead buries her fingers inside Jensen’s hair again, and his spine elongates and bubbles with goosebumps so hard that under any other circumstance, he’d have pulled a muscle. He hears her, “That’s it,” and their bodies smacking together, so wet it’s embarrassing, loud and sloppy and the books said it wouldn’t hurt, and it doesn’t.

Not in any way Jensen could compare it to, at least.

It’s—a burn. Deep, fulfilling. Bigger than the toys for sure, but—softer. Flesh instead of plastic. Real blood, real skin.

Her precome should get drowned out by Jensen’s slick, but he can—smell it. Swears he can feel it, mixing with his own wetness, making it complete, making it perfect, and when her knot starts to swell, Jensen thinks to swallow his whimper, and he pushes back against her a little harder. (Not too hard, though; don’t give them the wrong idea.)

The music and voices have swirled into an unrecognizable frequency. Muffled and right up in his skull, Jensen is drowning in it. Thrums with the heat of the body on top of him, the Alpha’s hands on him, squeezing, holding—her excited gasps, hurried and wet, and then a strangled something like it hurts for her, too, when her knot catches, finally, and Jensen—he, he can’t.

He isn’t.

Tears and heat. His own spit pools against his cheek, soaks the sheets. His thighs feel like they’re shaking until the Alpha presses him even further down, ignores the limits of his mobility. Rocks her hips and mutters into his ear and it’s just hot and soft and no words at all, and Jensen shudders again and his insides clench around her like this is what he needed all that time, like, yes, _yes_.

Someone says, “Damn,” and someone else laughs.

As her orgasm subsides, Jensen’s world becomes clearer again as well. Zeroes in on one stain on the wall he’s apparently blinking at, zings through him in a sharp sting of warmth when she tests their tie—and she mumbles, “You feel that?” and he nods, thoughtless, and she nips at his ear a little too hard, but he lets her. Of course he does.

She humps him until they break loose; Jensen gasps for the sudden loss, for the searching stab of her cock into his taint, his scars, before she sinks back inside. Pumps her hips again, slow and deep, before the screech of a chair across the floor makes Jensen flinch, makes his knee pull higher on the mattress in an attempt to somehow curl in on himself.

He doesn’t understand until he gets his head jerked back by his hair, until it’s basically in his face.

They have to pry his mouth open. Someone cajoles when they succeed.

Jensen’s head is spinning. The heavy scent and taste of the Alpha on his tongue (his lips, down his throat) suffocates him, alerts and subdues him equally. Oh, he thinks, I can’t. But he is. And he will.

Someone else behind him, now, yanking him up with both hands on his hips. Makes him present and pushes in, bigger than the last, and Jensen half-coughs around the cock pumping down his throat, two hands in his hair that hold him in place, keep him from turning away, and he can’t breathe.

He coughs again, squirms. Someone pulls at his ear, slaps the back of his head.

“Shut up,” they say, and Jensen does his best.

He can. He can be good. He can.

His stomach turns. Someone warns, “He’s gonna puke,” and the Alpha pulls him off, then, and, yeah.

Jensen gulps—air, saliva. Hears, “Look at me,” and he does, because he is supposed to listen—meets those eyes above him and gets his mouth stretched out once more. Blinks through tears and the shake of the other Alpha pounding his ass, and he thinks, absently, to cover his teeth (right?), and the Alpha’s eyes narrow for that, and she groans as she fucks his face in slow, too-deep, controlled thrusts. “Keep looking at me. Just like that.”

“Can’t do that kinda shit with your wife, can you,” hollers someone.

Her mouth pops with her, “Nope.” She orders, “Swallow,” and Jensen tries. He does.

“Fuck.”

“Chau, you done yet? Lords.”

“You wait your turn like everybody else.”

Jensen doesn’t gag again until he’s getting the Alpha’s cock yanked out of his throat too fast. Gets hauled back and pounded into from behind and an arm winds around him to grab at his chest and pinch, hard, and his head snaps away to hide but there are teeth at his neck, next, digging in and _in_ and that hurts, and someone growls (too-close).

Without the shot, it would have—it would have worked, he thinks. He wouldn’t have needed it.

He wishes he wasn’t this drowsy. That he could—be present. Understand.

He flails, just a bit, for the increasing pressure of the knot popping in and out of him. Whines when the Alpha on his back forces it in a moment too late and those teeth bear down even harder, break skin, and Jensen jolts.

Someone’s holding his arms crossed and caught underneath his crushed-down chest. Easy and dumb, because it doesn’t take much in his current state. The Alpha hums against his ear, licks after the mark he’s left on Jensen’s throat—it throbs, terribly, even worse than the heat spreading in his guts. The deep rush of it, weighing him down.

Bass. Hiss of a can of beer. Malt, sweat, skin.

Jensen rubs his face into the sheets. Gets his hair ruffled, his head turned. Something warm and wet taps at his cheek, the corner of his mouth: “You’re not done.”

The knot in him throbs steady and heavy, stretches him to his limits; someone pinches his nose to make him open his mouth again, plunges their cock down his throat. Jensen heaves mainly due to the lack of air. The angle is off. Painful.

“Fuck,” on his back, rutting, “Lords, he’s tight… Milking my knot like a goddamn vice…!”

“Yeah, well—stop hogging him!”

A rumbled, “Guys,” and there’s that silence again, shocked and short and Jensen trembles, caught between two Alphas, both buried balls-deep inside of him, and he couldn’t move if he tried.

Even when his nose is let go of, he can’t catch his breath. Attempts to reach for a knee, a thigh, but gets his hand folded back down, gets his throat pounded tight. It’s urgent and too much, like Jensen’s throat is just as pliable as his pussy, and the next gag brings a rush of liquid and utter humiliation—a shocked groan, air; Jensen heaves again. Floor. Someone pinches the back of his neck, hard, and that helps. Makes him grunt off-beat, makes his eyes roll back.

“Oh, great. You complete moron, Rhodes!”

“I didn’t—lordsdammit, how was I supposed to know? Fuck you!”

That voice again: “Enough!”

Jensen feels empty-weak, still tied to the Alpha on his back, still getting filled up with their come. His hand is starts to go numb and his neck throbs weird, and. Lords, that vomit stench.

“Stop it with his mouth. Idiots,” and someone wipes at Jensen’s face. Rough, but it helps.

Oh. Oh, he’s so full.

He sighs and his cheek gets cupped, and another hand massages the back of his neck again. Helps him calm down, helps him relax. A tug to his earlobe. Jensen winces.

Eventually, the Alpha pulls out and smacks Jensen’s ass hard enough to make him truly feel it, to get him semi-aware. Hands and arms and they drag him, heave him upright, to the table. They pick up their beers, make room. The table is cold and hard against Jensen’s back.

Their pack leader presides at the head of the table, arms crossed—it’s an odd image of him, turning upside down. Disappearing, because Jensen’s eyes slide shut anew. Jensen drops his hands next to his shoulders, out of the way. They yank him down the table just a bit, enough that he is available once more. The push-in is easy, this time. Sloppy and messy and someone comments, and someone laughs.

Hands on Jensen—his stomach, his chest, his arms. Dipping into his mouth, scratching into his hair. Someone feels along his molars, knuckles his cheek out from inside. They’re holding his head. Someone spits into his mouth. He swallows. A slap to his cheek; another.

“Lords. Been about time for another O. How many years now? Eight?”

“Shame what happened to Grace, really.”

“You know they snatch ’em from other packs? Savages.”

“Worth the wait, if you ask me.”

“So cute.” A squeeze to Jensen’s left tit. “Bigger than my hubby’s.”

Jensen’s leg gets pushed down nearly all the way to his shoulder—the angle makes the Alpha groan, slam faster into Jensen.

Laughter. “That good?”

“Two more minutes and you can try it yourself.” A whistle, more laughter. “What can I say, I’m a team player, guys.”

Danneel pipes up, “Jared,” and, “you haven’t touched him all night, you okay there?” and there’s stray laughter, still, but Jensen—remembers that name. (All of them, if he tried: Harris and Pellegrino and Beaver and Rhodes and Chau and Padalecki. A picture in the pamphlet Vince had hauled home with a bunch of other papers. _Our Alpha gals and guys, putting some well-needed work on the cattle fences._ ) He blinks; someone drags his arms up and off his face (was he hiding?), holds them firm while the guy’s knot begins to catch despite the too-sloppy grip of Jensen’s insides.

Close-by, “I’m fine,” but the air is thick, is heavy with everyone waiting, more or less pent up. Mated, most of them, and Jensen can tell apart the faint Beta marks, the slick from those who were brave enough to get near their partner this close to a full moon night.

Jared, though, is perfectly clean. Just raw, just him. (Like he hasn’t even touched—been touched, lately.)

Jensen yelps, off-guard. Not for the tie settling in but for that hand, wrapping around his dick, stroking him.

For the first time, he thrashes.

He doesn’t get far.

Amused: “He’s not even hard. Can they get hard?”

Jensen half-mouths a plea, gets a hand slapped over his mouth for it, his nose pinched shut for it. Mean laughter right by his ear. The stimulation is—too much. Off, wrong, like this is a heat for real. Someone puts his mouth on it before their pack leader warns,

“Enough,”

and Beaver joins in, “It hurts ’em, c’mon, stop it.”

“And here I was trying to be nice.”

“Sure, dude.”

“Ten bucks say I can make him squirt! Anyone?”

“You have a gambling problem, buddy.”

Jensen doesn’t listen. Not really. It doesn’t matter. Better to focus on—yes. That deep, calming throb inside of him. How it’s right, what he’s meant for. Full and warm, making him feel good. It’s good. It is. He hoped it would be.

Hands, still, around his jaw, in his hair; thumbing at his ear. Fingertips skimming his branding, his clavicle, flirting around his throat. Others, plucking at his nipples. He whimpers. It doesn’t matter.

They try making him ride someone on one of the chairs. When that doesn’t work out, it’s back to the mattress. The sofa. Someone pours beer into his mouth; he coughs. His vomit has been cleaned away or at least he can’t smell it anymore.

He thinks there’s two at once, at some point; it hurts until it doesn’t, and they coo at him, praise him, _good bitch_ , and Jensen bites back a sob, the urge to nod, yes, yeah—I am.

He feels sore or just—sensitive. Every knotting seems to pour oil into his fire, leaves him burning hotter, deeper. The Alphas can feel it, too. Clothes pile on the floor eventually, naked skin against Jensen’s, and the talking has lowered to another level. It’s just—deep, grumbled. Breathless and wet and urging, like they need him—and they do, don’t they? Nobody can give them this. Nobody but Jensen.

Beer breath and his own slick; fingers, knuckles. Stick your tongue out, put your dick in his mouth again, do it, make him choke on it.

Hands around his throat, bearing down. Thumbs into the hollow of his throat; a knot, settling deep into his guts, plugging him up again, a dozen times, Lords know how many times—“Baby, you like that, huh?” and words that don’t exist, snarls and teeth and Jensen’s head feels like it’s gonna burst. Like he’ll just die.

It happens, then—somewhere between the Alpha inside of him grunting low and feral against Jensen’s cheek, their cock pressed up close into his cunt, ticking with their heartbeat, the gush of their come, that he—he doesn’t even know. He never managed this by himself.

It’s—something uncurling, deep inside. Taking him over, spreading through his spine, and it’s too faint of a memory but it’s there, and he knows, and he shakes with their hands still choking him out and he can’t gasp, just comes and comes and comes, and someone praises, “Oh, fuck, there he goes,” and it’s—he can’t. He can’t.

Someone attempts to wedge their cock in next to the current one, and despite the tie going down, it feels like too much. When he tries to struggle, Jensen gets his arms folded behind his back, pressed down, hard—they make it work. He comes again like that, both of them grinding against each other inside of him, bumping deep and relentless into all the spots Vince didn’t tell him he had. His body reacts on its own, sucks them deep, keeps them there. One gets yanked out of him when the other knots. They turn him on his back. It’s endless.

Every full moon—every twenty-eight days, Jensen thinks; every month from now on.

A snarl, a yank on his arm. “Come here,” someone says, and their voice reaches right into Jensen’s chest and _tugs_.

He nearly falls off the table. Some eighties’ hit plays on the TV, flashing colors and all.

Jensen focuses on not making his eyes cross, attempts to—stand straight, let the Alpha touch him like he wants. Big, big hands, swooping down his shoulders, his back, cupping his ass.

Their pack leader looks down at him like he’s searching for something. Anything. But Jensen has nothing to offer.

He hears, oddly clear: “On your back.”

The Alpha helps. Is still wearing all of his clothes, which is odd, Jensen thinks, at this rate. At this hour.

The Alpha moves strong, small-ranged, and he hasn’t even yanked his cock out of the fly of his jeans before he’s bulling the head of it into Jensen’s ass.

Jensen’s hands scramble for—anything.

Find a flannel, hair; nails and breaking skin.

Padalecki swallows him whole.

Blankets him, curls over him like Jensen’s something small (he isn’t, hasn’t been for a while) and it’s violent, violent enough that Jensen’s eyes are wide and seeing—the deep lines in the Alpha’s forehead, the tight pinch of his eyes as he forces all the way inside, until Jensen runs out of space. He tries for more, deeper, still. Jensen gasps, shocked and caught and too much.

Jared’s first thrust nearly sends Jensen’s head into the wall.

Jared grips both of Jensen’s shoulders from underneath so he can pull him in, and Jensen scrambles to wrap himself tighter around the sheer girth that is Jared’s body, and Jared utters, “Okay?” and then, it’s. It’s.

This. This.

It hurts. It really, truly hurts.

Someone gasps, “Holy shit,” and Jensen doesn’t know how he’s not crying, how he’s not—screaming. Just gulps his breath, and Jared lets him bury his face in his chest when he moves up a bit, folds Jensen tighter so he can slap into him even better, can cram his dick into Jensen’s pussy in long, punishing strokes that pull Jensen inside-out on both sphincters, every time.

“ _Come_ ,” and Jensen does, and Jared rises up to grab his throat, holds him steady like that while Jensen trembles apart, fish-mouthing with his hands on Jared’s wrists, his whole body—shaking under the impact of Jared’s hips, slamming against his ass, the back of his thighs.

Jensen imagines the room is very quiet except for the two of them.

A big hauled breath when Jared finally lets go—just to wring Jensen around, turn him on his stomach with Jared’s cock still pounding away at him, too-big and so slimy-wet Jensen whines for the squelch of them. Does his best to raise his hips, give their pack leader some leverage. Offers himself up.

Jared nips at his neck, once, twice, before he sits back on his haunches. Wraps both of his huge paws around Jensen’s waist and just—rails him.

Jensen loses it. Can’t even speak but is rid of even that meager rest of his voice when Jared pinches his scruff, hard, like he’s trying to rip into the muscle below, and there’s a gritted, “Let me. F-fucking—!” and he feels it, then. Jared’s knot, filling too-fast, catching on his rim and popping in-out. He can’t even _breathe_ with Jared’s paralyzing grip on him, but it allows his body to go liquid enough to swallow down Jared’s knot for good.

Jared surges forward, both hands back on Jensen’s middle, churning in and in and _in_.

He nearly pushes them off the mattress.

Shoves Jensen small and compact, has his tits nearly kissing his knees, and Jensen—comes, again. Ripples too-tight and he moans into the sheets, his own slick and spit and sweat, and Jared grinds into him in small, insistent circles, like it’s his decision how deep Jensen’s body reaches. He seizes, hard, before he starts coming, finally, and Jensen is too soaked at this point, it’s all dripping out of him and down his thighs but their tie traps every gush of their leader’s load deep inside him, makes sure not to waste a single drop.

After Jared’s distant-near, “Fuck,” follow some chuckles, a stray applause.

“Needed that one, didn’t you, chief?”

Jared doesn’t respond. Keeps bumping the fat head of his cock right up against Jensen’s cervix, still unloading, slicking him up further. He sighs, satisfied. A wide hand wipes across Jensen’s sweaty back, the valley of his spine.

To his apparent dismay, Jared’s tie doesn’t go down as quickly as the others’. Jensen mewls for the dig of fingers prying into the sides of his neck, coaxing him back alive, kneading like an apology. Barely-audible, “Little one,” and Jensen just coughs, and stirs.

Jared rocks into him until his knot goes down far enough for him to slop into him root-to-tip once more. No pause, no hesitation. He’s on Jensen’s back, now, curling over him, burying him. Jensen can’t exactly breathe, but that doesn’t matter.

Jared’s mouth sucks at his ear and behind. Punched-out little gasps and teeth to Jensen’s neck, finally, and Jensen doesn’t realize Jared’s engulfed his fist with his own until he can feel the bones in his hand shifting with the pressure of it.

Jared knots him again. And one last time, after that one.

Jensen isn’t awake to know who carries him back home.

~

It’s been raining these past couple of days. The village is soaked with gray and mud. Jensen watches it all from behind his curtains. A blurred, unreal world.

“He’s—it’s not—” and then there’s silence for a beat, across the room. “Yeah,” murmurs Vince, muffled, “yeah, I’m… Okay. Be right there. Yeah.”

Jensen stares up at him from his blanket cocoon, big-eyed.

Vince tucks his phone away as he explains, “He wants to see you.”

Jensen’s heart is racing the whole short walk.

Midday, early afternoon. Sunlight. Jensen stares back at faces he barely recognizes, faces that don’t remember him. Shocked to see him—outside, and at all. He curls his fists tighter inside his sleeves, bunches the fabric ugly. Vince is too sour to notice, to correct.

By the door, though, he does. “Fucking stop that,” he hisses, and a slap to Jensen’s wrist. Jensen slips just his fingertips out, but Vince is already rapping his knuckles at the door, already doesn’t care anymore. “It’s me,” he hollers, tight like he’s being disrespected by the door not opening for him on sight.

In the widening gap between door and frame appears Jared’s face.

Jensen’s pulse stumbles.

Their eyes meet across Vince’s shoulder.

Vince begins, “Jared,” but Jared interrupts, “Thanks. I’ll give a holler when you can collect him.”

“I’m—” Vince catches himself. Snaps, “Sure, yeah,” and Jensen can’t tell if he is pulled inside before or after Vince is already making his way down the small stairway.

Just knows that it’s different. That Jared smells different, and then again not. His huge, warm hand wrapped tight around Jensen’s biceps and his cabin is all logs, all warm old wood and Jensen finds himself with his back against the already-shut door, and the Alpha is—right there.

Searching Jensen’s face. His expression is pinched, unreadable.

For some reason, Jensen feels like he should be apologizing.

Jared’s hand goes from clasping Jensen’s arm to clasping Jensen’s wrist. Makes him cradle his hand between their chests. His heart feels like it’s gonna pound right out of him.

Quietly, Jared asks, “Do you remember me?”

Jensen nods.

“What’s my name?”

Jensen mutters, “Jared.”

“You smell scared. Why?”

“It’s.” Jared has got him pinned, and Jared is looking him straight in the eye, and Jensen can’t. “I’m—it’s… It’s not…a full moon.”

“Yeah. It isn’t.”

“Then why?” but Jared makes their foreheads meet, then, and Jensen’s voice dies right in his throat.

His eyes force shut, now. Jared’s breath in his nose, in his mouth. Heated; thick. Jensen’s chest rumbles with one gulped, unsteady breath.

Jared lets his nose graze against Jensen’s. And for a moment, Jensen thinks he is going to kiss him. On the mouth.

He holds very still.

Jared murmurs, like a shared secret, “I can do whatever the fuck I want. Whenever I want,” and Jensen’s body throbs, and it hurts.

Jared’s leg between his thighs, digging _up_.

Jensen gasps, and he trembles.

Jared tells him, “I didn’t even touch you yet,” and Jensen can’t even nod. Doesn’t know what to do, to say. Just lets Jared make a fist in his hoodie, drag him along like that. Kitchen table; papers. Jared swipes the thing clear before he heaves Jensen atop of it, pushes down on Jensen’s chest until Jensen’s arms come down to keep him from banging his head.

Jared kisses him, then.

Lips and teeth and everything, and Jensen scrambles and he—he can’t.

The Alpha blankets him, pushes harder until Jensen’s back meets the table. Jared’s hand spans wide, feels the heave of his chest.

Jared’s lashes feather along Jensen’s cheekbone. Bearded chin against Jensen’s, dragging low.

Jared kisses him again.

A tongue worms against Jensen’s, and he’s utterly, embarrassingly unprepared.

Jared doesn’t seem to mind.

“Can smell you all the way through these clothes, you know that?”

The Alpha works Jensen’s jeans open with only a handful of sudden, strong moves. Yanks them all the way down to Jensen’s ankles and one of Jensen’s sneakers survives, keeps clinging to his foot with Jared sinking to his knees, shouldering Jensen’s legs apart, pushing them up and away. Jensen thinks to gasp, to try and steady himself, but Jared’s already closing his mouth over where he’s still swollen and sore from two nights ago, and Jensen fists his hand into the Alpha’s shirt with a shocked whine.

Jared lap-sucks at him immediately, digs his tongue deep and grinds his bearded chin hard against Jensen’s tailbone, and Jensen is—left trembling. Gasping.

Jared comes up to ask, “Hurts?” and Jensen nods fast and honest over Jared dipping back down, lapping straight back inside.

Jensen thinks he says something, something small like, “Oh,” and Jared pushes his legs further into his chest, makes him flatten himself out on the table. His table. Their pack leader’s home.

Jensen isn’t aware he’s watching Jared until those eyes stare back at him. Black and wide and Jensen squirms without his say-so.

Jared licks one fat line from tailbone all the way up to Jensen’s scars. Another.

He gets up, then.

“Stay,” he warns, one hand continuing to press down on one of Jensen’s legs, and Jensen just sniffles, and he nods.

Whimpers with the overwhelm once Jared pulls his cock out of the now-open fly of his jeans; and it doesn’t even hurt anymore, right now. Not as much.

Hurts all over again when Jared leans back in, thumbs the head inside.

Cooed, “Easy, hey,” and, “look at me,” and he has to grab Jensen’s chin, keep him from tossing his head around; adjusts to grab him by the throat instead and kisses him again, and that—helps.

That pressure. Thumb and fingers digging into Jensen’s throat, below his jaw.

Again, low, “Look at me, Jensen,” and Jensen—does.

Wide-eyed, close.

Their breaths mix hot, wet. Jared smells like Jensen’s insides, like Jensen’s slick.

“I thought,” tries Jared, unsteady, “if I waited, let you recover first, but—Lords,” and Jensen yelps with a sudden, forcing dig-and-push of Jared’s hips, “how are you already—it’s…fuck…!”

The Alpha finally sinks his glans past the impossible clench of Jensen’s cunt, and he pushes on with his breath caught, with his mouth agape.

Tense with focus. With pleasure.

Jared gasps, “Fuck,” and Jensen laps back into his mouth once he joins their mouths for another kiss, for another suck on Jensen’s quivering bottom lip. “Spread it. Yeah. Yeah, just like that.”

Jensen does. Watches the Alpha sinking another bunch of inches inside. Feels him hitting rock bottom before he’s even all the way in, clenches weak around the cock pressed tight up against his cervix, stretching him painfully wide. It should hurt—more, after…everything, that night. His spit, maybe. Alpha saliva, numbing and healing; potent.

“So fucking tight all over again… Like nothing’s even…!” but Jared doesn’t end up finishing his thought. Just anchors in and starts slopping heavy into Jensen’s cunt, pulls him inside out on both sphincters. Between their bodies, Jensen watches, mortified. Fascinated. Everything.

“Can do this whenever I want, huh? Top dog,” pants Jared, above him, fixing Jensen with his eyes, his intensifying scent. His balls slap down on Jensen’s ass on every stroke. “Much as I want. Plenty as I want. And he’ll bring you over. Bring you right up to me, little one,” and Jensen’s already moving before the Alpha orders, “Put your arms around me. Hold onto me.”

The scrape of the table across the wooden floor layers over Jensen’s pained moan, his desperate gulps for breath against Jared’s mouth, Jared’s tongue. The Alpha slams the entire length of his cock into him, now, uncaring for the limits of Jensen’s body, just a blind chase, a matter of submission. Jensen sobs in horror of what he knows is about to happen.

Jared growls, “Let me,” and kisses Jensen deep while his knot suddenly and rapidly swells to fullness.

He slops it in-out a couple of times before he slots it deep, allows it to pop all the way, nice and buried. It was a struggle to breathe before, but now Jensen is—huffing on empty.

Lightning and thunder; the scrape of Jared’s teeth along his lip, his chin, his throat.

Jensen’s voice breaks weak and raw on Jared’s jaws locking around a mouthful of already-there bruises. On Jared, growling with his release, his knotted cock pulsing hard and tucked up too-tight, too-deep. The slick, heavy scent of his come, emptying inside Jensen’s cunt. Mixing with Jensen’s slick, washing him out. (Everything. Every hint of anyone else.)

Delirious, Jensen still is aware of Jared picking him up, of himself clinging and holding on, even if only weak. Jared, settling them down on the nearby sofa, blanketing Jensen completely, burying him underneath his mountain of a body, of a plethora of kisses. The tie takes a long time, this time. Jensen feels warmed from head to toe by the time Jared finally softens, finally begins to stir again for real.

Sloppy kisses, eyes closed. Jensen sighs, arms still around that neck, holding on. Jared grinds low, through the mess he made. Drags Jensen inside out before he ruts back in place; creamy.

Conspiring, “He can wait for another hour, right?” and Jensen laughs, once and thoughtless.


End file.
